The Banishment
by aMUSEment345
Summary: Short three-shot meant to ease withdrawal, one for each Reid-less episode of…..the Banishment. This one will be bittersweet, at best. What, exactly, happened, when he disappeared to visit his mother?
1. Chapter 1

_**A.N. Just a short one, a three-shot meant to ease withdrawal, one for each Reid-less episode of…..the Banishment. This one will be bittersweet, at best.**_

* * *

 **The Banishment**

 **Chapter 1**

"Dr. Reid, hello." The psychiatrist shook hands as he greeted the son of one of his long time patients. "I'm glad you were able to get away."

"It's only for a short visit, I'm afraid, Dr. Norman. Thanks for keeping me aware of what's been happening."

"I'm so sorry the news isn't better. We had reason to believe the drug was promising, but, sadly, Mrs. Reid isn't the only one who's suffered a relapse."

Genuine regret was audible in Dr. Norman's voice. Spencer Reid knew that his mother's physician had developed a friendship of sorts with her, over their long tenure together.

The son of Diana Reid understood the attraction. He was well aware of his mother's remarkable intelligence and storehouse of information about all things medieval: myth, customs, lore, history and, most especially, her beloved medieval literature. As a child, he'd spent whole days enthralled with her tales, lulled into a nearly hypnotic state by her low, raspy voice, virtually living the stories as she told them. That they'd become locked inside the vault of her mind, sometimes unreachable even by her, was one of the great tragedies of both of their lives.

But, fortunately, the confinement of her knowledge hadn't been consistent. It had been interspersed with recurring moments of lightness, of near-clearheadedness on Diana's part. During those periods, she would resume her former duties as a professor of literature, even if only for an audience of one. Reid relished the memories of those times, of the days and nights when it seemed that they'd been given a reprieve, however momentary. And he could easily understand if she'd had the same effect on Dr. Norman.

"I'm sorry, too. I know we had our differences about the drug trial starting without my knowledge, but you _did_ manage to convince me that I would have agreed to it anyway. It _did_ sound promising for a while. Mom was sounding almost like she did when I was a kid."

Dr. Norman was curious about that. He'd never heard about Reid's childhood experience of Diana's illness.

"Do you remember a time when she was completely healthy?"

"In retrospect, no. She told me, much later, that she'd gone off her meds to have me. So, obviously, she'd already been diagnosed. But, as a child, I didn't realize that. I didn't even really recognize her as ill. I thought she was just 'Mom'. I didn't have all that many friends, so I didn't exactly have a wide basis for comparison. But, you know, everyone has an individual personality. I just didn't realize that hers was pathologic."

"Technically, Dr. Reid, it's not her personality that's pathologic. Schizophrenia is an entirely different phenomenon." Dr. Norman had reflexively gone into teaching mode. But, suddenly realizing who was playing the role of student, he issued a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to."

Reid smiled in return. "It's true, I've probably read just about everything there is on schizophrenia. But I don't have the kind of clinical experience that you do. I'm always up for a lesson."

The psychiatrist smiled. "Are you up for seeing your mother, as well?" Shifting the subject. "She's not as well as the last time you spoke with her, but she's not at her worst, either."

The statement brought out a question from Reid. "That's something I'm worried about, in fact. If she's relapsing, are you expecting her to just regress to her previous baseline? Or might it be worse?"

Dr. Norman's lips thinned, making Reid anxious about his reply.

"We don't know yet. As you are aware, many of the active symptoms of schizophrenia….the delusions, the hallucinations…tend to diminish with age, even though the patients don't become more socially functional. However, just recently, there have been a few case reports about patients on the same medication, describing deterioration beyond the baseline, even in older patients. Not many, mind you. But it's happened."

Reid's heart quickened. Being locked away from her precious mental store of information hadn't been the most devastating of Diana's symptoms. The delusional paranoia had been far, far worse to experience….and to witness. He'd thought the worst of that was behind them. Now, he was learning, it might not be.

 _Please, God, if You're even out there…don't do this to her again. What did she ever do to You?!_

His response to Dr. Norman was much less passionate. "Let's hope not, for Mom's sake."

"For all of our sakes, Dr. Reid. I know how painful this must be for you as well."

Reid's lips molded to a small, sad, smile, so easily that Dr. Norman suspected it must be put to frequent use. His suspicion was confirmed when Reid replied to him.

"I'm used to pain, Dr. Norman. I just don't wish it on anyone else. Especially not my mother." Pushing his shoulders back, Reid added, "Let's go and see her."

* * *

He'd spent a nearly sleepless night lying on the sofa bed in his mother's room.

She'd been surprised to see him, even after their several phone calls planning his visit. Reid recognized the forgetfulness as a familiar trait from his childhood, and mourned its reappearance. For the past year or more, it had been fading, and he'd been so hopeful.

But that's not what had kept him up all night. What had kept him up was a consuming guilt.

Over the course of the past year or so, the prospect of his mother's improving mental status had raised some very significant issues for Reid. If she was no longer mentally incompetent, if she was no longer eligible to be conserved, then he was no longer positioned to make decisions for her. True, they'd have to go back to court and change things up legally. But that was the simple thing. The enormously more complex thing was the letting go. The trusting in her judgment.

As he'd read, and as his discussions with Dr. Norman had confirmed, Diana's improvement wouldn't bring her all the way back to what was socially, or psychiatrically, considered to be 'normal'. There would be a paradoxically brittle flatness to her personality. She wouldn't interact in a typical way, and she might overreact, in either direction, without warning. But she would be able to physically care for herself, and see to the daily activities of her life.

Which meant she might no longer require Bennington. And, if she wanted to leave, the decision would be up to her. But, although she might legally be considered capable, Reid knew that she really wasn't ready to live alone. That day would never come.

 _She'd forget to eat, or to take her meds. And then what would become of her?_

He couldn't see her in any kind of half-way house. If she refused to stay at Bennington, then the only real alternative, he knew, was him. She would have to move in with him.

The first time the thought had come to him, he'd cringed, physically. As a child, he'd been left with no choice about his living arrangement. As an adult, he not only _had_ a choice...he _craved_ that choice, even if life circumstance was determined to remove it from him once again.

He had a home, such as it was. And a lifestyle, which he enjoyed, despite the apparent loneliness of it. To become the safe harbor for his mother, he would have to sacrifice all of it.

 _And I'm too damn selfish. I have a life now, and a job that's important, and friends. Having her live with me would change everything._

He didn't even see how he could keep his position with the BAU. There was too much travel involved, and she couldn't be left alone for those long stretches of time.

 _God help me, it would be easier if she never got well enough to leave._

 _Those_ were the thoughts that had kept him up all night. That his mother might need him, not in the form of a letter or a phone call…but that she might need _him_ , his presence, his hospitality. And that he would even consider refusing her.

Until Dr. Norman had called him about the relapse, Reid had done his best to ignore the dilemma. Every time it had come to mind, he'd grabbed a book, or solved a puzzle, or done more research on a case.

 _Because I knew that, if I ever, actually, consciously thought about it, I would have to face the fact of what a bastard I've become. Maybe my father gave me something, after all._

So he laid on the bed, looking over at the sleeping form of his mother, taking note of the hint of a scowl on her face. Her illness caused her to wear that scowl so frequently that it seemed to be etched on her countenance, even in the depths of slumber.

Reid was given a brief reprieve from his self-recrimination when the sound of a short vibration came from the floor next to him. He reached down and lifted his phone, noting the time before he opened it. _Six a.m. Nine o'clock, in DC._ The text was from JJ.

HOW'S IT GOING? DID YOU SAY 'HI' TO YOUR MOM FOR ME?

As she'd requested, when he was first planning the trip. He'd only really talked about his mother's condition with her, and then with Hotch, when he'd asked to take leave. He'd assumed they would fill in the others.

Reid had tried to oblige the request, but he'd run into a snag. He'd had to remind his mother of who JJ was, when he'd passed along his friend's greeting.

"You remember her, Mom. She's Henry's mother. Michael's now, too."

"Oh, yes, of course," Diana had said. Then added, after a pause, "Who is Henry?"

Reid didn't have it in him to discuss what was going on, even with JJ. And it certainly wouldn't fit into a text message.

GOING OKAY. MOM SAYS 'HI', TOO.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A.N. Second of three, one for each episode that Reid (and every Reid fan) endures...**_

* * *

 **The Banishment**

 **Chapter 2**

 _The social worker was coming, he had to hurry. Kitchen clean…check. Bathroom clean….check. Wait, there was a pill bottle out. It wouldn't do for an outsider to see the label for the antipsychotic medication. Hide that one in the freezer._

 _No, wait! They'll be checking to see if we have enough food!_

 _He shoved it inside a box of cereal, making certain to cover it over, just in time to hear the sound of the bell, followed by the expected, "Spencer? Spencer!"_

 _He'd warned his mother they were coming, but apparently she hadn't remembered. Like always. She sounded confused, and kept calling him, insistently, "Spencer! Spencer!"_

"Spencer!"

She'd called his name as loudly as she dared without attracting the attention of the staff. It wouldn't do to have them running into her room to find that her son had snuck in during the night. They might arrest him as an intruder. Forgetting, momentarily, why he was there.

Diana made her way from the bed and shuffled over toward the window, and the sofabed that held her son, now finally stirring awake. She crouched next to the bed, putting her face at eye level with his. Gently, she pushed back the wayward bangs that always seemed to make their way into his eyes, even in sleep.

"Spencer, honey, it's time to wake up."

Thirty years melted away, just like that. Spencer Reid opened his eyes to the image of his mother, gently rousing him from slumber, just as she had in the earliest years of his boyhood. Those were the years _before_ the social workers, and the spot checks, and his collusion in hiding the extent of her illness. His _dream_ may have taken him back to the nightmare years, but the _waking_ took him back to that blissful time when they could still believe they were a normal family.

He'd been out for only an hour or two, after spending most of the night ruminating. Still he blinked himself awake, and managed a croak. "Mom, hi. Good morning."

"Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

Reid pushed himself up on his elbows, and took stock of his mother. He'd learned the hard way that each day was a different day in her world, some good, some bad. Some aligned with reality, and some decidedly not. He would have to test the waters to see what kind of day today was.

"I slept okay. You?"

"As well as one can in this hellhole."

That kind of day.

"Mom, you _like_ Bennington. You've told me how nice the people are here. Are you saying something's changed?"

Sometimes reminding her worked, and sometimes it didn't. Over the years, on her good days, she'd told him how lovely the staff were, and how well they took care of her. He preferred to believe those accounts. But he always _did_ have just a niblet of worry that maybe there were times when one or more of the aides _hadn't_ treated his mother all that well. After all, a patient's paranoia could be put to use in many ways, including the covering up of mistreatment.

 _I just have to trust that Dr. Norman cares about her as much as I think he does. That he looks out for her, in a way that I can't._

Today, the reminder worked. "I have? Oh. Well, maybe some of them are. All right, then." Changing the subject, unconsciously echoing once again their typical morning conversation of years ago. "Did you dream sweet dreams?"

It was how she'd always started, by asking about his dreams. Many years later, he'd learned why.

In the earliest phase of her illness, Diana had interpreted her delusions as waking dreams. She'd successfully dismissed the unwanted intrusions on her thoughts as momentary lapses in concentration, a wandering of her mind, a daydream. But, gradually, the 'lapses' had become the norm, the delusions more frightening, and her need to hide from them more intense. The illogic of it had been lost on her, but she'd also come to desperately fear that her son might begin to suffer the same frightening encounters.

So, every morning, she'd inquired about the quality of his dreams. He'd learned quickly enough not to report his nightmares. News of them had served only to spawn a whole new level of paranoia, and heightened fear, for both of them. Because, while the young Spencer understood his mother's visions weren't real, he also realized that she did not. He recognized true, debilitating, fear when he saw it. And _his_ fear was that his mother would die of hers.

So, this morning, he reported on his dreams as he had long ago learned to do.

"Sweet dreams, as always, Mom. In fact, I dreamt about you." _Sort of._

She smiled in that way that always broke his heart, because it couldn't quite erase the finely etched lines of psychic pain.

"Good." She patted his cheek. "That's my boy."

Reid swung his legs over the side of the sofabed and stood, raising his mother with him.

"We have the whole day ahead of us. What would you like to do?"

The freedom she'd been granted when the new drug was working had been restricted once again, once the symptoms of relapse had become evident. But Reid was certain Dr. Norman would make an exception, as long as she was in the company of her son.

"Oh, I don't…" She seemed about to dismiss the idea, when a thought struck her and altered her words. "Do….do you suppose we could take a ride? In a car? Maybe we could just….go… _anywhere_. Somewhere where it's open. Somewhere without walls."

He smiled at her. He might not have been able to offer her a cure, or a reprieve, or even the comfort of hearing that her relapse was only temporary. But he _could_ take her away from Bennington for the day. He could indulge her wish for freedom, however fleeting it might be.

"Of course. I'll arrange it with Dr. Norman. Why don't you get washed and dressed. Do you need me to ask for an aide to help you?"

"Hmph. That will be the day, when I need someone to help me get ready for a date with my son."

His grin widened. Exchanges like this one always made him feel like he was seeing a glimpse of what they could have had. And, as bittersweet the transience of it was, he'd long since learned to grasp the moment, and savor it.

"All right then. I'll find Dr. Norman. Save me a little hot water, okay?"

"I'll save it all for you, my love. I don't mind a cold shower now and then."

"Mom, I didn't mean…"

"Relax, Spencer. I was only kidding."

* * *

The day was glorious. Bright sun, dry heat, uncrowded roads.

"Ah," said Diana, "It's been so long."

Her son looked over from the driver's seat.

"Haven't they taken you anywhere since the Grand Canyon?"

"The Grand Canyon? Who would have taken me to the Grand Canyon? Besides my wonderful son, that is." She reached over and rubbed the back of Spencer's head.

He smiled back at her, masking his concern. _What good does it do her to have these experiences if she can't relive them?_

"Don't you remember? The last time we had a case in Las Vegas, I thought I might visit you, but then I found out that you were away, on a trip to the Grand Canyon."

"I was?" Genuinely confused.

"You don't remember?"

"I think you must be mistaken, Spencer. I've haven't gone _anywhere_."

"But you sent….never mind."

She took him at his word. "But it _would_ be a wonderful place to visit, wouldn't it? Do you remember when your father took us there?"

 _No._ "He did? How old was I?"

"Oh, you were a baby. I guess he really took _me_ , because I'd never seen it. Now that I think about it, I don't recall you being impressed. I suppose it really is just a big hole in the ground, isn't it?"

His mind was lasered onto the image of the family trip.

"I wish I could remember all of us being there together."

"Yes. Well." Diana resumed staring out the window.

"Do you want to go there now?" It was a few hours' drive.

She seemed to ponder it a bit. "No. No, I don't think so. But…do you think we could visit the desert? I always did love the desert."

It sounded familiar. "Why, Mom? I remember, but I've never known why. Why was the desert so important to you?"

Her answer subdued the hope in him.

"It's open. Empty. There's nowhere to hide in the desert, but it's all right, because it means _they_ can't hide either. It makes me feel safe."

* * *

They ended the day in familiar fashion, the son stretched out on the bed beside his mother. Diana had offered to read to him, and he'd readily agreed.

"What a beautiful day we were given, my son. The sky was so vast, the clouds so beautifully laden, and the desert….oh, its hues were so paradoxically muted and brilliant at once. So wonderful. Thank you, Spencer."

Her words brought a melancholy to Reid. He'd so often wished she'd been able to pursue her career. _He'd_ been gifted with her teaching. But the world had been deprived of her writing. When she spoke like this, he realized how much they'd _all_ been deprived.

"It was a great day, Mom. Thanks for coming with me. And thanks for the idea to go out to the desert. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until we were there."

She smiled at him, as she opened her book. "If it's all right with you, I've chosen our reading for tonight, too."

He grinned. "Fine with me. You always choose the right thing."

He meant it. As a boy, he hadn't quite realized he felt that way. He'd known only that it was a great source of comfort…. .sometimes his _only_ source of comfort…..to sit beside his mother and listen to her recite the prose of the great authors.

In time, he'd come to understand that it was how she communicated. That, even on those days when her illness waxed strong, even on those days that left her emotionally stunted, she was able to express herself, through the words of others.

It wasn't an accident that Diana so often chose the tales of knightly chivalry and valor. She'd seen her internal battle as a crusade, and her son as a dedicated defender of her honor.

For a time, after she started reading, Reid watched her profile. He studied the sharp outline of her cheek, the distinct angle of her jaw, each so familiar from looking at his own visage in the mirror. He focused on the sound of her voice, the deep, raspy tones evoking sense memories of his boyhood. In all the years intervening, he'd only encountered those same comforting tones once more…..in the voice of his best friend. More than once, he'd wondered if that was what had drawn him to JJ in the first place.

As Diana continued to read, her son was lulled into a state of timelessness. The past had become the present, as the present evoked the past. He closed his eyes and imagined them in the bedroom of his childhood home, feeling the tension of their current situation drain away. In time, the sleeplessness of the night before exacted its toll, and he drifted into slumber, his head lolling slowly sideways to rest against his mother's shoulder.

Feeling the contact, Diana turned her head to look at him, and realized that Spencer was no longer listening. She tilted her head to bring her lips to the top of his head.

"Sleep well, my son."

And she continued to read aloud, instilling his dreams with the lightness and warmth of a mother's love.

* * *

The next morning, Reid awakened before Diana, surprised to find himself still lying on the bed with her, as she reclined with the book still open across her middle. He moved as gently as he could, so as not to jostle her awake. Still clothed from the day before, he slipped from her room, hoping to find Dr. Norman making early rounds on his patients.

Reid spotted his quarry at the thinly disguised nurses station located at the hub where several hallways came together.

"Dr. Norman, good morning."

The older man looked up from the computer monitor he'd been scanning.

"Oh, good morning, Dr. Reid. How is the visit going?"

"It's going fine, I guess. Mom enjoyed the trip yesterday, so thanks for letting her go."

Reid paused before moving on to his agenda.

"Dr. Norman, would you have time to speak with me for a bit? I need to have a better understanding of what's going on with my mother. There are times when I see hints of her old symptoms, and other times when she's…..really, she's great! Better than she's been since I was a boy. And I don't know what to make of it."

 _And I don't know what to do about it._

Dr. Norman rose and came around the counter. As he ushered Reid into a neighboring conference room, he commiserated.

"I've made the same kinds of observations. And I'm afraid I don't know quite what to make of them, either."

* * *

Behind the closed door, Dr. Norman reviewed Diana's recent status changes with her son. Then, with Reid's indulgence, he did something he'd been wanting to do for a long time. He sat and listened as the young man relived his own experiences of his mother's illness, eager to hear what Reid remembered of his early years with Diana. The psychiatrist was fully attentive as Reid dug deep into his eidetic memory, which presented the events to him as a series of visuals, only gradually accompanied by conversation.

Dr. Norman found the exercise to be both fascinating and helpful, as he learned about the typical ebb and flow pattern of Diana's symptoms. But he could also see that the telling of it was beginning to take an emotional toll on the young man before him. As Reid's narrative approached the time of his eighteenth birthday, the psychiatrist noted the change in the quality and pace of his voice. He couldn't help but interpret it.

"You did the right thing, Spencer. She was unable to care for herself at home." Purposely addressing Reid by his first name. This wasn't subject matter for formality.

"But I could have stayed with her. I could have taken care of her. Instead, I put my own needs first. I was selfish."

 _And I still am. If you only knew._

"Have you ever spoken with her about it, since?"

Reid sat forward, elbows on his knees. " A couple of times. She said what you said, that I'd done the right thing, and that she understood."

"But you didn't believe her."

"What else was she going to say? Her only son essentially banished her from society so that he could live his life unencumbered. To acknowledge that, she would have to…she would have to…." His words were lost to misery.

"What, Spencer?" Softly. "What would she have to do?"

"She would have to acknowledge that I didn't love her enough."

Ah. The psychiatrist had been waiting years for this confession. He'd known it would come one day, because it always did. But he hadn't expected it to present itself quite so abruptly, on this particular morning. Still, from long experience, he was ready.

"Is that what _you_ think, Spencer? That you don't love her enough?"

Purposely transitioning to the present tense.

Dr. Norman leaned forward. He'd been here with so many other family members, so many other times. He couldn't recall any of them looking more miserable than the young man sitting across from him.

 _Genius can only trump guilt for only so long,_ he thought. So he offered the genius something to hold on to.

"Schizophrenia is a capricious beast. That's how I look at it. It wreaks havoc on everyone and everything in its path, but only after years of torture. You don't need to absorb the blame for what it did to you and your mother, Spencer. Neither of you is responsible for that."

When Reid didn't refute him, Dr. Norman continued. "In fact, it would be only natural if you were wondering if it was about to come after you again….if it might be plotting to intrude on your life in yet another way."'

They both knew he was talking about what would happen if Diana stabilized, or even improved. What would happen if she no longer needed to be institutionalized.

Reid's breath held as he sat in stunned silence. It was as though the psychiatrist had read his mind. He'd been found out.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible..."I'm ashamed."

"What you are, Spencer, is human."

He let the words hang there. Dr. Norman was comfortable with silence. It was one of the most important tools of his trade. So he waited as his words took effect, confident that the young man would speak again when he was ready.

Speak, maybe. But not make eye contact. Reid's gaze was on the floor.

"I don't even know what to say. For so long, I prayed that she would get better. I _prayed_ , and I don't even believe in God. But it wasn't just for _her_. It was for me, too." "He paused, shaking his head, not ready to let go of the self-recrimination. "I know it's selfish, but I wanted her to get better because...just….I guess I just always wanted a family. Someone to belong to, and who belonged to me. And, now..." He couldn't bring himself to finish.

Despite his long experience, Dr. Norman had rarely encountered a situation comparable to the Reids'. Their isolation from the rest of the world had been profound. He'd often marveled that Reid had done as well as he had.

"There's no shame in that, Spencer. What there is, is love. My experience tells me that it's the healthy families that face this. The ones who still have the capacity to care. Others have long since let go, too decimated by the illness to even define themselves as family any longer."

Reid shook his head. "That's not us. She's still my mother. And I'm still her son."

"Exactly. So, in some ways, the fact of your dilemma is an encouraging one."

Gaining a wry smile. Dr. Norman took it as permission to continue.

"You've been on your own for a long time, Spencer. You've established a life for yourself, and you have a career that makes a difference in the lives of others….even if you _do_ work for the government."

Reid's brows went up until he saw the smile on Dr. Norman's face.

"Yes, on those days when she was really doing well, your mother proclaimed the news all over Bennington. She's very proud of you."

A shy, lop-sided smile rose on the young man's face this time.

Dr. Norman sat back. It was time to get down to the business at hand.

"You asked me how to interpret her symptoms. From what you described earlier, it seems that the natural, untreated course of her illness has been a waxing and waning one. That effect has long been dampened by the medications she's been on, so it's been less visible here. The new drug seems to have uncovered it again, although the swings from good to bad seem, at times, wider and more dramatic. And we haven't yet been able to determine a predictable timeline for them, or to relate them to peak and trough levels of the drug."

"What about combination therapy?" Latching on to a more familiar, less emotionally challenging, topic. Even if they hadn't actually done anything to address his dilemma.

"It's already under way, although we haven't quite found the cocktail that seems to work for her. The swings seem to be less dramatic, but they also occur more often. It's similar to the kind of relapse that's been seen in others, but, as you know, each case is unique." Dr. Norman mused on his own words for a moment before adding, "Although her case seems to be _particularly_ challenging."

Reid couldn't suppress a sarcastic guffaw _. Leave it to Mom to be 'unique' among the unique._

Aloud, he queried, "What else is there? What else can we try? Isn't there _anything_ I do to help?" Willing to put all 187 IQ points to work.

The psychiatrist smiled, trying to mitigate the disappointment he was about to incur.

"Thank you for the offer, Spencer. But I'm afraid we're already doing all that can be done. If you were a praying man, I'd ask you to pray."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A.N. At last, we have reached our final (we hope!) Reid-less episode, putting an end to...**_

* * *

 **The Banishment**

 **Chapter 3**

He was completely torn. He couldn't stay away from the BAU indefinitely. They'd just gotten JJ back, and here, he'd left Hotch short-handed again.

 _JJ._

She'd texted him again, and then, when he hadn't responded, she'd called. But he'd let it go to voicemail. And then he'd not listened to the message. Guilt finally made him relent. Reid pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen a few times.

"Spence? Are you okay?" A trace of worry in the recorded voice. "I texted you, but I didn't hear back, so I thought I should check. How is your mom? How are _you_? You holding up all right?" A pause ensued, as though she'd somehow expected him to answer her. Then, "Call me, all right? Day or night. Between Henry and Michael, I'm pretty much up all the time anyway." Another pause. "Remember what I said, please. You're never a bother. And you don't have to do this alone."

 _Yes, I do._

She was his best friend, and he'd already lied to her once. He didn't want to do it again.

 _Better to see if I can come up with some actual good news before I call her back._

He'd spent nearly the entire day in Bennington's library, tying up one of their computers, surrounded by pencil-scribbled pages torn from a yellow legal pad. He didn't doubt that Dr. Norman had meant what he'd said, that they were doing all they could for Diana. But that didn't mean there wasn't _something_ he could do. He didn't hold a doctorate in chemistry for nothing.

He'd taken only one break, to have lunch with his mother. Diana had seemed content enough to have her son within her sight, and had spent much of the day sitting in a comfortable armchair in a corner of the library, alternately reading and dozing. Watching her son intently scribbling on his pad, she'd flashed back to a time, distant in memory, when the young Spencer had attacked his homework at their kitchen table, with similar fervor. She could barely resurrect the image, but it was there, in a way that it hadn't been for a very long time. And she'd smiled.

At lunch, they'd queried each other. "What were you working so hard on, son?" simultaneous with "What were you reading, Mom?"

He'd insisted she go first, in true chivalrous fashion.

"I was reading Malory…his works on the Arthurian legend. After all this time, I still find myself fascinated with his integration of the accountings from several different languages."

Reid smiled. The stories of Arthur, and Guinevere, and the Knights, had been the fodder of his childhood.

"Something tells me it wasn't just Malory's skill that had you reading the stories again."

As difficult as it could be at times, as impenetrable a shield as schizophrenia could be, Reid _did_ know some aspects of his mother _very_ well. And one of those aspects was her penchant for romance. As long as it was medieval.

This time, Diana smiled, and patted his hand. "It's true, I do love the stories nearly as much as I love the technique. Just don't tell any of my other students."

He couldn't be sure whether she was kidding, or confused. Sometimes he wondered if it was both. But today had largely been a good day, and he wasn't about to ruin it by probing.

"I remember you reading them to me when I was a boy. I'm pretty sure that hearing about the Knights was a big part of what made me want a career where I could help people."

Just as Reid had managed to find the core of his mother, in spite of her illness, so, too, Diana had managed to emerge long enough to find the core of her son. And she told him about it now.

"You were _born_ with a good heart, Spencer. It was there when you were a boy. How else could you have been so good to me for all that time? The stories only helped you find a way to share it with the rest of the world."

Sudden, unexpected, emotion paralyzed him. It had been _years_ since she'd been clear enough to really remember the time of his youth, let alone to acknowledge what it had been like for him. This really _was_ a good day. It took him a full minute to find his words.

"I…thanks. Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome, son. Now, tell me what kind of homework you've been at all morning."

His brows went up. _Homework?_

She read his expression. "No, I'm not having a temporal delusion, Spencer." She'd gained fluency with the jargon of her diagnosis over the years. "I was just reminded of how you used to look, back when you first started doing homework. Before you did it all in your head, that is."

"I didn't…did I?"

"As I recall, you had it all done mentally by the time you made it into the house. But the teachers insisted it be written, so….."

He chuckled. "So I wrote it out over milk and cookies. You're right. I do remember that."

Diana snorted. "You were worried about standing out, being different. You were worried about what would happen if you resisted the societal norm. It was as though you thought they would banish you."

"Banish?"

"It's what was done in the time of Arthur. Guinevere was banished, and so was Lancelot. Their love was a forbidden one, deemed a betrayal. That's how is was in those times. Whenever someone behaved in a way that placed them at odds with society, even if the society only _perceived_ it that way…..they were removed. Banished. Exiled."

He thought it over, relating to the concept more than he cared to. "I guess we kind of do the same thing today, don't we? Except mostly we banish them to prisons."

 _Or institutions. Or goalposts._

She nodded. "Well, I couldn't very well have my son suffer banishment, could I? So I made sure you had something to hand in, every day." Thinking, then, "Didn't I?"

He knew what she was asking, and assured her. "You did. You ingrained it in me, Mom. Even when you weren't feeling well, I made sure I did my homework."

Her smile returned. "So, tell me, what was your homework about today?"

He conducted a rapid fire internal argument about the pros and cons of being honest with her. Honesty won, by virtue of the kind of day she was having. Even if he failed, at least she would know that he'd tried.

"I've been trying to see if there's a way we can help your medication work better. You know how you're remembering some things today? Well, those are some memories you haven't had for a long time, so it's a good sign, that they're back. But they might not stay with you, because the drug wears off too quickly. It doesn't give your brain time to build lasting connections. Dr. Norman has tried a bunch of different combinations of old meds with your new one, but none of them have worked very well. So, I'm trying to look at it in a different way."

Diana's eyes had narrowed midway through the explanation. "Are you saying I'll forget again? That I won't remember you as a boy?" Looking stricken at the prospect of losing, once again, that precious thing that had so recently been found.

Reid mentally kicked himself for letting Honesty win the argument. "No, Mom, no! You won't forget me, and you won't forget about when I was growing up. It just….it just won't be as _sharp_ a memory."

Letting 'little white lie' have its turn.

She was only slightly placated, and he didn't blame her. She was as functional as he'd seen her in decades, and he was in as much turmoil as she was, at the prospect of her return to dysfunction. On a day like today, he _could_ entertain the idea of her living outside of Bennington.

And her distress was enough to spur him to willing sacrifice. He would do whatever it took….bring her to live with him, or move out to Vegas. Quit his job, and find one that would allow him to work from home. Maybe he'd even find a more lucrative job, so he could give her everything she might ever want. She deserved it.

But all he could offer her now, was his determination to try. Reid patted her hand in assurance.

"Don't worry, Mom. I'm on it. I'll find something."

 _Please._

* * *

After lunch, Reid searched the literature and even called the authors of a few of the articles, to see if there were updates on their research. Disappointingly, it looked like Dr. Norman was right. There was no known combination drug therapy that might help restore, and prolong, his mother's improvement.

So he followed the only logical path. He researched the composition of the drug that had worked the initial miracle, and plotted out its chemical configuration. Then he did the same for the several other drugs in her current cocktail. He compared the shape and number of the receptors for the various drugs, and compared them again with known receptors in the brain, bemoaning the dearth of evidence for that particular part of the exercise.

 _So, it's either not staying bound long enough or it's degrading too quickly altogether. What would stabilize it?_

He put his eidetic memory to good use as he researched the chemical configurations of a host of compounds, looking for key similarities and differences. After hours at it, he was about to give up in frustration. And then, inspiration came, slipping in through the back door, as it so often does.

 _For all I know it could just be Mom. It could just be how her genes have configured her receptors. Dr. Norman did say that her case was pretty unique. Maybe I should be talking to a geneticist…_

It was a little easier now, when it happened. When the memories came. It was a little less painful, a little less immobilizing. But no less poignant. _Maeve_ might have been able to help him help _her_. Maeve might have been able to help his mother.

He'd become so much better at shaking himself out of it, and he did so now. But the brief, vivid vision of the woman he'd loved had been accompanied by another memory, one recalling a happier time in their relationship.

 _You pointed me toward vitamins and minerals to help with my headaches. Could it be that simple? Are you pointing me that way again? Maeve?_

He resumed his search with replenished vigor, working through dinner and into the evening. He bid his mother a brief 'good night' and promised to spend more time with her tomorrow. And then he went back to the computer, and the yellow legal pad, and the hastily drawn figures.

As the time approached midnight, his eyes demanded a rest. He pushed back his chair and did his best to rub them awake.

 _Don't fail me now. I'm close. I can feel it._

He got up and walked around the library a bit, stretching out the kinks in his back and shoulders. As he did, he passed by the chair his mother had been occupying for much of the day. Her book was still on the table beside it.

Remembering that distraction had often proven to be a fruitful tool to his thinking process. Reid decided to page through the book. Paging quickly turned to reading, and he soon found himself engrossed in the tales of love and betrayal, triumph and loss, exile and banishment. He'd had the book read to him many times, but this was the first time he was reading it himself. His internal voice carried his mother's tone this night.

 _I wonder if she sees it. I wonder if that's the real reason she relates to the story so much. Does she see herself as someone who's been exiled, deemed 'not fit' for society? Banished?_

The thought got him back on his feet and over to the computer once again. And, just as had happened so many times before, his eyes saw things in a new way. A different way.

 _Please God, let it be the right way._

He had something. Reid made a few notes so he could try to explain his thinking to Dr. Norman in the morning. But he _had_ something.

* * *

He woke to the sensation of his phone vibrating in his pocket. Reid looked over to see his mother's bed empty and jumped up, worried that she'd wandered off somewhere.

"Mom? Mom, are you in the shower?"

Knocking on the bathroom door. No answer. He opened it cautiously, not wanting to startle her. But the bathroom was empty. He would have to throw on some clothes and go looking….

Then he saw the note, lying on her bedside table.

SLEEP IN, HONEY. YOU'RE TIRED, AND YOU NEED YOUR REST. I'LL BE IN THE LIBRARY, WITH ARTHUR.

He smiled. _Looks like it's another good day._

Then he looked at his phone, and his grin disappeared. The screen held a text message.

SPENCE, YOU'RE SCARING ME. COME ON, I'M WORRIED. PLEASE CALL ME. OR JUST COME HOME.

 _Oops._

He felt guilty even as he began tapping in the letters. He should be calling, not texting.

He'd confided in her, and she'd supported him. And she was genuinely worried about him and, by extension, his mother. More than anything, Reid was touched by her invitation to 'come home'. It was largely because of JJ that he'd begun thinking of the BAU that way.

But it was too complicated, and his mother was right….he was exhausted. Any energy he had, needed to be devoted to conveying his breakthrough to Dr. Norman. So, with a regret that he didn't quite express, Reid texted an apology for his silence, and told her he'd be 'home' soon.

Then he showered, dressed, and went in search of Dr. Norman.

* * *

"I don't understand, Spencer. You're saying I'm cured?"

She didn't _feel_ cured. The voices were suppressed, barely a whisper. But they weren't gone.

"No, Mom. I'm not sure there _is_ a cure. But it looks like we might be able to get your symptoms under much better control. Great control, actually. Dr. Norman is at the University Medical Center now, meeting with some of the researchers. "

They'd agreed that the psychiatrist should take the lead, as a familiar figure to the medical community. Suggestions from patients' families weren't always welcomed, even when said family member held as many doctorates as Reid did. If the concept won their favor, Dr. Norman would arrange for Reid to meet with them.

 _This_ would be the rapid part of the process. The actual research, and trials, and dissemination, could take years. But that didn't mean that the two men most interested in Diana's health couldn't make a few dietary changes and provide her with a few over-the-counter supplements, even now. And they fully intended to do so.

"Spencer, I don't have to be crazy to say that I don't want anyone experimenting on me. You know how I feel about that."

"I know, Mom. And this isn't an experiment. Dr. Norman and I just think you'd feel better if you had the right mix of vitamins and minerals in your diet. And we think the medicine might work better that way, too."

Vitamins and minerals, she could handle. So Diana agreed to the changes. At least she did today, a good day. Reid could only hope she would maintain the regimen on her inevitable bad days.

After that, she was quiet for so long that Reid began to worry that she was already changing her mind.

"Mom? What are you thinking about?"

She turned worried eyes to her son. "Will I have to leave?"

"Leave?"

"Here. My home. Will I have to leave my home if I get better?"

Reid opened and closed his mouth several times before responding. Here, he'd been dreading having the responsibility of her daily care once again….and carrying a mountain of guilt because of it….and his mother was frightened about the very idea of leaving the only home she'd known for the past quarter of a century.

"I… I…..Mom, I don't know…..I don't….Mom, are you saying you don't _want_ to leave here?"

"Where would I go?" Confused.

"You could come with _me_. You could _live_ with me."

Sad, and guilty all over again, that she hadn't even considered it a possibility. _Maybe she does know me that well._

"Oh, no, Spencer, I could never do that. You have a life of your own. And you have a _very_ important job. I could never impose on you like that."

"Mom, it's not an imposition for a mother to live with her son." Even though it had seemed like one, just a few days ago.

She reached out and caressed his cheek. "My Spencer. My boy. I'm so lucky to have a son who loves me as you do. That's not true for a lot of my friends here, you know. Their families abandoned them long ago, and it makes them so sad. Sometimes I feel bad when they see me reading your letters. But I'm too proud not to tell them, 'My son writes to me every day, because he loves me.'"

 _I write to you every day because I don't visit you._ Exhaustion and guilt proved too much for Reid's emotional defenses. His mother noticed as he blinked back tears.

"Don't cry for me, Spencer. I understand that I wasn't meant for society. I understand why I needed to be banished. It's not such a bad thing, you know. I've made a life for myself here."

Blinking no longer worked, and the tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Mom…" he choked out.

"Honey, it's all right. I'm comfortable here. If your concoction can help me think clearly, I'll be thankful for it. But I don't need to leave. I don't think I have the energy to try to live in society again, anyway."

He could only shake his head, as she went on.

"Did you know that Lancelot and Guinevere banished _themselves_ , in the end? They kept themselves apart, and dedicated the rest of their lives to the Church. Not that you'll ever catch me doing that!"

She chuckled, and waited for him to smile.

"But I understand why they did what they did. They were weary of the world. It was a place they no longer wished to visit."

She'd given him a little time to collect himself, and he took advantage of it to assemble his thoughts. So many things were running through his mind that it proved to be a chore.

"Mom….just so I understand….are you saying that you want to stay here at Bennington whether the new combination of medication and supplements works or not?"

"I am."

He stared at her, scanning her face for any sign of artifice…..any sign that she was simply telling him what she thought he wanted to hear.

 _I can't tell. Maybe. Or maybe she'll change her mind, if it actually does work. Who knows?_

All he could do was to go along with her, and try to ignore the fact that he still felt relieved, in spite of his good intentions. He didn't want the relief to reach his eyes.

"Okay. As long as you let me ask you again. And again. And…"

She smiled, as he'd intended.

"I love you, Spencer. But you're a terrible liar."

The improvement in her thinking hadn't quite reached to her filters, but that was all right. She _did_ know him that well, and she didn't hold it against him.

The two of them caught eyes, mother and son, as they had done for so many years. Each of them might stand apart from the world, in their own unique ways, but they belonged to each other.

Smiles turned into laughter, and laughter into embrace.

* * *

When it came, the goodbye was brief, and quick, made easier by Reid's plan to visit again in a few months. He and Dr. Norman would monitor Diana's progress as a team.

He and his mother spent their final night in traditional mode. She, reading aloud, and he, in rapt attention to the words…..and to the person reading them. At his request, she narrated the tale of the final days of Lancelot and Guinevere.

"So, he was too late. They never saw each other again. That's so sad," he observed.

"Not so sad, son. It was as she'd prayed it to be. They'd parted once before, in most painful fashion. Guinevere loved Lancelot enough not to visit that upon him again. She knew they would meet again some day, in a better world."

"Still…"

"Still, they loved one another, as powerfully as they had ever done before. Love doesn't wane over distance, Spencer."

He gave her a small smile. "Good thing."

He planned to take the red eye back to DC, and go directly to work the following morning. So, with the tale of the ill-fated romance concluded, he rose from his chair and moved to his mother, seated on her bed. He knelt down beside her, his stature putting his head even with hers.

He spoke in a near whisper. "I have to go."

His mother's eyes roamed all over his face, as though scanning in the features. He felt like he was seeing _her_ see _him_ , clearly, for the first time in a very long time.

"I love you, Mom." His own eyes running back and forth now, scanning this _particular_ Diana into his brain. _This_ was an image he'd want to revisit, over and over again.

She reached out with both hands and held his face in them. "I love you too, Spencer. Always. No matter what. Never forget that. Please."

It felt like a permanent goodbye, despite his full intention to return. Reid couldn't help but wonder if she feared not seeing him with this kind of clarity, ever again.

He choked out a 'me, too', before pulling her into an embrace. "I'll be back in a few months," he whispered into her ear. "But if you need me here sooner, I'll come. Just say the word."

She released him from her embrace, and from his obligation. "You have your own crusade to wage, Spencer. I'll be fine here. But I'll gladly hold vigil until my knight returns."

Reid grinned. Then he stood, and kissed the top of his mother's head, unknowingly replicating her act of a few nights ago. And then he left, uncertain of the day or time he would be able to do so again.

* * *

The trip home was long, made even more so by the fact that there was nowhere to extend his long legs. Unable to get comfortable, Reid spent much of the flight ruminating on all that had transpired over the past week.

 _She was my very first teacher, and still the best of them. She's always known what I needed to learn. Even when I haven't wanted to learn it. Like now._

At their parting, it had seemed like she was giving him a lesson he wasn't yet ready to receive.

 _She thinks I need to learn to let go. I know she didn't say it, but she may as well have. She thinks I need to let go of_ her _. That was the point of the whole Lancelot and Guinevere story, right? That they let go of one another, because they each had a higher calling. And Mom sees_ my _life that way. But not hers._

Reid wasn't willing to concede that point to his mother.

 _Your life is every bit as important as mine. Your struggle didn't make it lesser. It just made it an example of courage, and perseverance. You're the hero in this story, Mom. Not me._

As overwhelming fatigue began to conquer his discomfort, Reid closed his eyes, and fell into the kind of stream-of-consciousness that precedes sleep.

In that pre-dream state, his subconscious set before him a collage of the women in his life: Diana, the huntress, who, although wounded, had provided for him as fiercely as she could. And who, in her heart, provided for him still.

Maeve, the Warrior Queen, who'd awakened a fire within, before valiantly giving her own life for his. That fire was still not extinguished, in spite of the loss.

And JJ, the forever friend who would remain in sole custody of his heart, after both of the others were gone.

JJ. At the thought of her, Reid's lips rose in a smile, even as he descended into his dream. He was glad to be returning with good news, even if it was tempered by any number of unknowns. But it was _another_ thought that had made him smile.

 _I wonder if she knows where_ her _name comes from. I wonder if she knows that 'Jennifer' is just another way of saying 'Guinevere'._

FINIS


End file.
